Soon it was time for church, and I put on Margaret’s elegant hat, which was handed me by the new maid, and I walked across to St Cyprian’s with my mother and sisters, feeling strangely tall. I sat in the front pew where I had always sat, with Margaret’s silk dress taking up a great deal more room than I was accustomed to. And I listened, not to Papa’s thrilling tones, but to Mr Morton’s mumbled ones. And then I came home again. But Papa was still not there. And Mr Morton stayed to supper, sitting in Papa’s chair at the head of the table. And no one seemed to feel it at all out of the ordinary. After supper he read to us from the gospels, but didn’t explain why my father was not there to read to us himself. ‘Goodnight, Margaret dear,’ he mumbled, pressing my hands in blessing as I went up to bed.
The stairs were the same as I trod the thick patterned carpet to the first floor, and my room was the same, with its blue curtains and bedspread. But the person I saw in the looking-glass, with her grown-up hair and grown-up frock, was not at all the same; in fact, it shocked me to see that she bore a marked resemblance to my mother. And when I carefully took off her fine frock and her rather complicated underclothes, I found that the contours of her body were more like Nettie’s than mine. It was all so very perplexing and upsetting. But, for the moment, there was nothing to be done except put on the lace-trimmed nightgown that was folded on the bed, and attempt to go to sleep. Maybe in the morning, I thought, things would be different. I closed my eyes and prayed that God would have mercy and restore me to myself. Yet when I woke the next morning and looked at my shape under the bedclothes, I could see I still had Margaret’s long limbs and her fine bosom. What had happened to me was real and I would have to make the best of it. There seemed one course of action open to me.
So I got up and dressed in Margaret’s clothes and pinned up Margaret’s hair and went downstairs to live Margaret’s life. And I found that she was such a quiet figure in the household that her curious ignorance of what had happened the day before (or even at any time in the recent past) was unremarked upon; if, indeed, it was noticed. I discovered that she could play the piano almost as well as her sisters, and could draw and embroider and do all manner of things that Daisy had never attempted; but that above all she was renowned for always having her nose in a book. I learned from the servants that the dark man with the straw hat was called Robert Constantine and that he was a friend of Mr Morton's, destined to take Holy Orders himself; that Hannah had left two years before to be married to the haberdasher on the High, and now turned up at church in the very latest fashion, to the disgust of both my sisters; that Mrs McQueen had long ago given notice, which nobody regretted – and that pink-faced Jess had come instead. I learned that Christiana, now much graver and more subdued, was engaged to Mr Morton, who now seemed to be doing all Father’s work in the parish, and occupying his study. However, there was still no sign of Father himself, and I had such strange feelings when I thought of him that I even feared he might have died. But no one in the house wore mourning and there was no black drapery to be seen on any picture or looking-glass. So I kept my counsel, and waited, thinking he must soon return from whatever business had taken him away. I thought maybe the bishop had appointed him to an important committee to do with the conditions of the poor, and that he was away in London or even Manchester. But, all the time, I could not shake off the notion that he had been unwell and was convalescing somewhere. I was surer of this when Mama once or twice let slip a reference to ‘your poor papa’, and when I realized that Mr Morton prayed for father’s health and well-being at every service. But although there would be a murmur of sympathetic approval when his name was mentioned, no one asked directly after him. Even Mrs Carmichael was silent. I thought this strange, but I could not say that I wished to hasten his return. The household seemed calmer without him.
The real truth came out bit by bit. One day, when I was in the drawing room quietly enjoying that fact that I could now understand quite difficult books in French and German, Jess brought Mama a letter. She looked at it. ‘From the superintendent,’ she said, shortly. And suddenly I had a brief picture of white walls and wooden doors and a general sense of distress and clamour before the image disappeared just as quickly as it had come. I watched as Mama opened the letter, and read it to herself. ‘No better,’ she said, shaking her head. Then she began to sob. ‘Dear God, will it never end?’
Christiana went to her, and put her arm around her, but Sarah rose and ran from the room saying that it ‘wasn’t fair’ and ‘my life is blighted’. I could do nothing but sit like a stone, trying to make sense of it. If Papa was under the care of a superintendent, he must surely be in a hospital of some kind. A sanatorium, I reasoned. Somewhere a distance from Oxford – maybe near the sea. But why did we not visit him? For some reason it came into my head that he might be in isolation, like a leper, although I’d never heard of anyone having leprosy in England. All the same, notions of illness and fever now seemed to attach themselves more distinctly to my memories of him. I could picture bowls and jugs and towels and the spooning of medicine. Had I nursed him? Brought him food and drink? Even – it seemed unlikely – washed him? But when I tried to recall it more clearly, all that would come into my head was the fateful picnic, and Nettie’s dismissal, and the seemingly endless summer jaunts with John Jameson. If I thought of Papa’s face, I could only see that big brown oar in his study, and feel his warm breath as I sat with my cheek next to his.
I must have seemed the most unfeeling of girls as I affected an air of calm to hide the depths of my despair and ignorance. I desperately wanted to remember what had gone before, but I had no means of doing so. I couldn’t refer to Daisy’s journal to jog my memory, as I had no idea where she’d hidden it. All I could do was let each day help me to the next, as I pieced my life together and built up a picture of myself as the Margaret that everyone knew. I found that I enjoyed the many talks that I had with Robert Constantine, who came to the house nearly every day and was very attentive to me, although in his presence I felt stupidly childlike and naive. I warmed to him the more because I felt strangely separate from my mother and sisters, as if I’d done something to upset them. And when it finally became clear to me that Papa was not in a sanatorium at all, but an insane asylum, I could not get it out of my head that it was somehow my fault.
And now, as I sit here in my comfortable new house, I know that I’ll need courage if I am to go back to those forgotten years. But Papa always said I had courage. Brave little Daisy, he called me, his hand on my shoulder. I feel his hand now, heavy and comforting. Don’t be frightened, he’s saying. Just remember that I love you, and Love driveth out Fear.
I close my eyes and concentrate hard. It makes me think of those séances when people sit in the dark and call up the dead. My heart is beating fast to think I may be doing what is forbidden. But I don’t want to raise spirits, only memories – surely that cannot be evil. Nothing comes at first; I am too aware of being in this heavily draped room, with its oak furniture and patterned carpet, with the sounds of the birds in the garden outside, the faint clash of dishes in the kitchen below. Then suddenly it begins to come back – my blue bedroom, my father’s study, Mr Jameson’s camera, the buzzing of a fly against a window, white silk stockings, prayers by a bedside, tangled sheets, a low candle; lessons in a book-lined room; the sound of weeping. I feel my heart beating double time. But before I can make sense of it all, the pictures flicker and disappear, like candles going out, one after the other. I try again, emptying my mind of all mundane thoughts, but this time nothing happens. I feel ready to cry.
I grasp the journal roughly in a kind of desperation and almost tear it open. Even a child’s words are better than nothing, I think. Daisy must have written something that will help me. I see that the handwriting is more hectic now, the letters less well-formed. Perhaps she knows she is hurtling towards some awful fate.
Monday 7th July
I cannot believe how kind Papa has been to me! I thought I was in the most t
errible trouble and no one would ever trust me again. Hannah said, You’re in for it this time, miss, and Sarah said I’d probably never be allowed to see Mr Jameson again if that was what I got up to in the afternoons. I was so miserable because it was not Mr Jameson’s fault at all, and I cried all night – very quietly so as not to make Christiana come running in – and I had to bathe my eyes with cold water three times before prayers this morning and could hardly eat my breakfast with Papa and Mama both sitting there in silence. Then Papa got up and said, Daisy come with me, and I thought he was going to tell me how wicked and vain I was, and I could hardly speak for the tears stuck in my throat. Whenever Papa is cross with me, I can never say what I mean and I start to cry instead. Papa says it’s not the words that matter as Vain Repetition is Heathen but you have to be really sorry from your heart if you have done wrong and that you must show your repentance in everything you do and I thought perhaps I would kneel on the hearthrug to beg for forgiveness. But the worst thing was that I was still glad that I had done it, and I couldn’t repent. I stood very still trying not to look at him but peeping up through my lashes, and he sat there staring at me and then he smiled and said he liked my hair short and would speak to Mama about it, which made me so releaved and happy but he said he still had to give me a penance for being disobediant and not caring about Mama’s feelings and other people’s – but it was only to write out Ephesians 6:3 which took me less than half an hour although it went over six sheets of paper. He looked at me so kindly that I knew he truly loved me in spite of my wickedness, and I am now determined to love him properly in return.
Mama is still cross, though. I’ve hardly spoken to her since yesterday. Even in church she wouldn’t look at me and when we walked home I had to walk next to Hannah who said Mama is of the opinion that I look like a ragamuffin. I said Mr J told me I looked more like a gypsy and that he had taken a photograph of me in gypsy costume and Hannah said, Did you undress all by yourself? And I said of course I did as I was quite good at it since Nettie had gone – and she didn’t say anything more. She wasn’t in a very good mood because Mama has stopped her going with my sisters to their archery lessons. I wouldn’t have known this except Christiana and Sarah came into my room yesterday evening, pretending to tidy my dressing-table as a favour and check my handkerchief drawer to make sure I had none of theirs. Christiana looked at my bookshelf and said, ‘The child has enough story books to open a public library!’ And I said Mr Jameson had given me some and Miss Prentiss had lent me two for the summer holiday. And Christiana said, ‘But where’s your diary, Daisy? Are you still keeping it? Do let us look!’ And they both started to poke about looking for it and I was so dreadfully afraid they’d look behind the fire screen and all would be discovered, but that very moment Hannah came in to brush their hair, so they stopped. They said what a bore it was that Hannah wasn’t accompanying them to Archery any more and Hannah pulled a face and said didn’t she know it, and that she’d rather be Out and About in the afternoons than stuck in the house dusting ornaments and labelling sheets especially with Cook’s bad temper in the basement and Mrs Mac’s vile temper in the attic and not a pleasant soul in between. And we all laughed because sometimes Hannah is funny. Then Christiana said it was very demeaning of Mama to watch over her as if she were a child, but Sarah said: ‘Oh, it’s because you aren’t a child that Mama is doing it! She wouldn’t have bothered if it had been Daisy that Mr Gardiner had taken a fancy to.’ Then she laughed in that funny way that makes her sound like a horse and twisted my hair around her finger to see if it would still go into ringlets which it still will, a bit. ‘Daisy leads quite a charmed life, don’t you, dear?’ she said. ‘Mr Jameson is allowed to take you everywhere and cut your hair and do all sorts of peculiar things.’ I said Mr Jameson had absolutely not cut my hair, I had done it on my own (which was mainly true). I think they are both jealous and it’s their fault anyhow that Mr J doesn’t give them tea or take them nice places. They kept asking, ‘What on earth do you do at Mr Jameson’s?’ And when I told them about the games and puzzles, Sarah said it was the most boring thing she’d ever heard. ‘Has he taken any more photographs?’ she said, and I didn’t want to tell her about it because of the way Hannah had looked at me before and because I remembered about the Eye of Society and knew Mr Jameson didn’t like me to talk about our time together.
I’ve been very worried in case Papa would stop me going to see Mr Jameson especially when he said that Mama thinks Mr J is too lenient with me. But Mr J says he isn’t lenient because he has a lot of sisters and is used to them and Papa said then that it was all right and I could go whenever I wanted and I was so pleased I hugged Mr J on the spot. However, Papa says I must start my preparation for Confirmation too, and he will undertake this himself. He said he thought he had neglected my Spiritual Welfare which was why I had been disobediant, and to that extent it was his fault. I think it’s not his fault at all but my own wilfulness and I ask God to forgive me every time I think of it during the day and every night at bedtime – three times at least. However, I was very glad and releaved that I may still go on my adventures with Mr J. However I couldn’t go with him today because Benjy wasn’t well and Papa said I might stay with him until Dr Lawrence came, which Mrs McQueen didn’t like but I didn’t care what she liked as she is so horrid. Dr Lawrence said there was nothing wrong with Benjy and that he was probably only teething and to give him some Overdale’s Syrup when he fretted, and Mrs McQueen was very pleased because it looked like she was right after all. But Papa said if it was only teething he didn’t know why Benjy cried so much when he was with Mrs McQueen and was so much quieter when he was with me – and she gave him a very cross look and said something about never having had any complaints before and hoping he’d let her know if he wasn’t satisfied as she didn’t wish to remain where she wasn’t wanted.
I was just glad to be with Benjy again. It was almost like it used to be except Nettie wasn’t there. Benjy still managed to pull my hair even though it was short. I sang to him – ‘Tom the Piper’s Son’, and ‘Lavender’s Blue’ and ‘Little Nutmeg’ and all our favourites – and Papa stayed to listen, which Mrs McQueen didn’t like at all. I knew she was just itching for him to go so she could have the nursery to herself. But the funny thing was that Papa didn’t seem to want to go. He kept looking around at the furnature saying he remembered this and that and he remembered when Nettie was here and how cheerful everything was. He asked Mrs McQueen if she’d moved things around and she said only the other small bed that had gone downstairs for me, and he said, ‘Strange.’ After a while she said she’d like a drop of tea and a bit of bread-and-butter and should she make some for him and for me, and he said he’d be obliged. Her tea was quite horrid and strong and she spread the butter too thick on the bread. But it was nice to be sitting down in the nursery having tea and not to be shooed away all the time. Papa said it would be a good thing if I could come and play with Benjy whenever I liked. ‘Don’t ever discourage her,’ he said to Mrs McQueen. ‘You know what the Bible says – Suffer the little Children’ – and Mrs M said, Yes of course, although I could see she was seething underneath. I asked Papa why Jesus said little children had to suffer as it seemed unkind to say that, and Papa said ‘suffer’ in the Bible meant ‘allow’ or ‘let’, and that Jesus wanted the crowds to let the children pass so he could bless them. He said sometimes the words used in the olden days didn’t mean the same as they mean in these modern days and we must be very careful as everything is open to interpretation, and Mrs McQueen sniffed so loud I thought her head would come off.
Then Papa said that Luke 16:18 would be the exact text to write out for my punishment tomorrow. He said we would discuss it tomorrow afternoon. I said, What about Mr Jameson? And he said, What about him? He will not come if he thinks there is sickness in the house and I think, don’t you, that you could spare one afternoon for your poor papa after all? And I said of course I would and I was so glad that I kissed him and he smiled very muc
h and said, ‘And of such is the Kingdom of Heaven,’ which is actually my new text. DEB
Tuesday 8th July
I had my first lesson with Papa today. It was really strange being in his study but not being in trouble of any sort. He put a chair for me with a cushion on it so I could reach his desk on the other side, and he put his prayer book on top. It is quite old and battered and he said Mama had given it to him before they were married so it is very precious. He looked at my penance first and said it was very well written and he thought we had both learned our lesson now. He was nicer to me than he has ever been – even at Christmas and on my birthday – and it was easy to learn all the promises I have to make in front of the bishop. When we had been through it all, Papa asked me if I thought God would punish us if we broke a promise to Him and I said doesn’t God forgive us all as long as we are sorry? And Papa nodded and said I was right and I saw with the eyes of a child which is the right way to see things. But it seems to me that children are always being told how naughty they are, which is a bit contradictery. Mr Jameson says Life itself is very contradictery and he wouldn’t be surprised to see a pig flying backwards or a cat unwashing itself!
Then Papa asked me if I liked Mr Jameson, and I said I liked him very much and Papa said ‘More than me?’ and I didn’t know what to say as I should love Papa more but Mr Jameson is nicer to be with and very funny – but Papa interrupted and said ‘I see you do’ – and I said ‘No I don’t – at least not all the time’ and he laughed and said you are very honest, Daisy, considering it is a question I should never have asked. ‘We all have to earn love, don’t we?’ he said. ‘And I have not always done so.’
After Such Kindness Page 19
